A Ballad on Ale


Whilst some in Epic strains delight,
Whilst others Pastorals invite,
As taste or whim prevail;
Assist me, all ye tuneful Nine,
Support me in the great design,
To sing of nappy Ale.


Some folks of Cyder make a rout.
And Cyder's well enough, no doubt,
When better liquors fail;
But Wine, that's richer, better still,
Ev'n Wine itself (deny't who will)
Must yield to nappy Ale.


Rum, Brandy, Gin with choicest smack
From Holland brought, Batavia Arrack .
All these will nought avail
To chear a truly British heart,
And lively spirits to impart,
Like humming, nappy Ale.


Oh! whether thee I closely hug
In horrest can, or nut-brown jug,
Or in the tankard hail;
In barrel, or in bottle pent,
I give the gen'rous spirit vent,
Still may I feast on Ale.


But chief, when to the chearful glass
From vessel pure thy streamlets pass
Then most thy charms prevail;
Then, then, I'll bett. and take odds,
That nectar, drink of heathen gods,
Was poor, compar'd to Ale.


Give me a bumper, fill it up.
See how it sparkles in the cup,
O how shall I regale!
Can any taste this drink divine,
And then compare Rum, Brandy, Wine,
Or aught with nappy Ale?


Inspir'd by thee, the warrior fights.
The lover wooes, the poet writes,
And pens the pleasing tale;
And still in Britain 's isle confess'd
Nought animates the patriot's breast
Like gen'rous, nappy Ale.


High Church and Low oft raise a strife.
And oft endanger limb and life,
Each studious to prevail;
Yet Whig and Tory opposite
In all things else, do both unite
In praise of nappy Ale.


Inspir'd by thee. shall Crispin sing,
Or talk of freedom, church, and king,
And balance Europe 's scale;
While his rich landlord lays out schemes
Of wealth, in golden South Sea dreams,
Th' effects of nappy Ale.


O blest potation! still by thee,
And thy companion Liberty,
Do health and mirth prevail;
Then let us crown the can, the glass,
And sportive bid the minutes pass
In quaffing nappy Ale.


Ev'n while these stanzas I indite,
The bar-bell's grateful sounds invite
Where joy can never fail!
Adieu! my Muse, adieu! I haste
To gratify my longing taste
With copious draughts of Ale .
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